A Simple Twist of Faith
by bree1387
Summary: A mistake, seemingly made by Carter, has dire consequences on his tenuous relationship with Benton, and more. JCPB friendship. [Complete]
1. Default Chapter

Here's my second ER story. I wrote it a few years ago and only just finished it now. Feedback is welcomed! Enjoy!   
  
Author: Megan bree1387yahoo.ca   
Disclaimer: The characters (except the bad guys) belong to WB and Michael Crichton. I'm making no money from this.   
Spoilers: minor for ER Live, Night Shift   
  
XxXxXxXx  
  
The ER was a flurry of activity. People yelling, running around, patients being wheeled through the ambulance bay doors in a non stop flow. For the first time in a while, there was a mass casualty alert. A truck carrying propane had jack-knifed on the expressway, dumping it's contents. A spark ignited the fuel, sending the truck and surrounding vehicles into flames. The result was a never ending barrage of wounded.  
  
        "Carter!" Mark yelled. "Run up to the blood bank and get 5 units of o-neg!"  
  
        Nodding, Carter threw off the bloody gloves and gown, and took off at a run dodging people, equipment, and discarded medical garbage. As he ran by one of the rooms, the incessant wailing of an alarm hit his ears.  
  
        Quickly he turned around and ran back into the room to find a middle- aged man in v-fib, with no one around to help him.  
  
        "I need some help in here!" he yelled as loud as he could.  
  
        Carter ran to the corner of the room and retrieved the crash cart. Charging the paddles, he quickly lubricated them and applied them to the man 's chest. His body convulsed as the electric current passed through him. There was no change.  
  
        "Anyone! I need help in here!" he yelled again.  
  
        Frantically running to the cupboard he grabbed a bottle of epinephrine and a syringe. He ran back, set the bottle on the table incase he needed it again, and injected the fluid into the IV.  
  
        Shocking him again didn't help. Once again he yelled for help; receiving none. Suddenly the monitor changed, showing the man was flat lining.  
  
        Carter started CPR and continued fighting a losing battle.  
  
XxXxXxXxXx  
  
        Peter ran alongside his patient's gurney to the elevator, ensuring nothing happened. The shrill alarm of a cardiac monitor sounding from a room at the other end of the hall, and shouts for help, made him stop in his tracks.  
  
        "Elizabeth!" Peter yelled to the other surgeon. "Come take this guy up to the OR!"  
  
        Before Elizabeth could ask where he was going, he ran to the room where the alarm was.  
  
        Upon entering, he found Carter performing CPR on a patient that was in asystole.  
  
        "What the hell happened!" Benton demanded.  
  
        "I found him in v-fib. Gave him 2 rounds of epi, and shocked him. There was no response. He stopped breathing 30 seconds ago."  
  
        "How long has he been in asystole for?" demanded Benton, shoving Carter out of the way.  
  
        "Only about 1 minute, but he was in v-fib when I entered and I don't know for how long before that..."  
  
        "Start bagging him!"  
  
        They worked feverishly, but to no avail.  
  
        "Call it, Dr. Benton," Carter urged. He didn't like the look he was seeing on Peter's face.  
  
        At first, Carter thought Peter hadn't heard him, but then reluctantly Peter called it.  
  
        "Time of death, 13:52," Peter growled.  
  
        Carter stopped bagging and looked at Peter. The expression on his face was one of barely contained anger. Carter was so sure he'd done everything right. Why was Peter so mad?  
  
        "I...I called for help. Nobody came," Carter stuttered.  
  
        "You could have gone into the hall and dragged the next person who walked by in to help!"  
  
        "There was no time, I had to get his..." Carter started, but was interrupted by Mark.  
  
        "What's going on you two?"  
  
        "Carter's trying to explain why this patient died," Benton fumed.  
  
        "I didn't do anything..." Carter started.  
  
        "Exactly! You never do anything right!"  
  
        "Whoa! Hold on you two! Carter, would you please explain what happened?"  
  
        Carter explained the events that had transpired while Peter shot daggers at him with his eyes the whole time.  
  
        "....that didn't work so I gave him a shot of epi, and he went into asystole," Carter went on.  
  
        Upon hearing about the epi, Peter walked over to the table where a bottle and used syringe were sitting. Picking up the bottle, he read the label.  
  
        "Carter! This is potassium, not epinephrine!"  
  
        Carter stopped in mid-sentence, turning white as a sheet. Mark looked at Peter, shocked.  
  
        "What?" Mark asked, confused. "Surely you're misreading it."  
  
        "See for yourself."  
  
        Mark went over and looked at the label. Sure enough, it read 'Potassium'. Glancing back at Carter, he saw the horrified look on his face. He had turned as white as his lab coat.  
  
        "Carter," Mark started gently. "Is this what you gave him?"  
  
        "I...I'm not sure. I put the bottle on the table..I.....I'm so sure the bottle said epi. I thought..."  
  
        "That's the problem Carter! You don't think. You never have!" Benton exploded, finally letting his pent up frustration out. "You've always been clumsy. I knew one day your incompetence would get a patient killed. And you know what? I'm through with you. I..."  
  
        "Peter!" Mark yelled, interrupting Peter's tirade. "That's enough! I'm sure there's.."  
  
        "No, Mark. Don't make excuses for him," Benton growled, then stormed from the room.  
  
        Mark looked over at Carter. It was obvious he was on the verge of tears. Not only had the one person he admired and looked up to totally rejected and demeaned him, but he believed he had killed a patient. Mark knew Carter would destroy himself over this.  
  
        He couldn't accept the fact Carter could have been careless enough to inject the potassium. Sure he was clumsy, but he had never harmed a patient. Even in the most grueling traumas.  
  
        "Carter, listen to me. We'll get this sorted out," Mark started.  
  
        "No. I killed him," Carter whispered.  
  
        "He might not have had a chance anyway. Now, you said when you came in he was in v-fib?"  
  
        Carter nodded his head, staring at the ground the whole time.  
  
        "What happened when you gave him what you thought was epi?"  
  
        "He flatlined."  
  
        Mark went to the end of the bed and picked up the chart. Two things immediately jumped out at him. The first thing was the patient's condition. He was a terminal cancer patient with only a month or two left. The second thing was the name. Michael Benton.  
  
        "Carter, I've got some good news for you," Mark said, with a little too much false cheer in his voice. "The patient had terminal cancer. He didn't have much longer to live."  
  
        "And?" Carter snapped.  
  
        "What do you mean? There's no and."  
  
        "Don't lie to me, Dr. Greene. You're not very good at it," Carter accused.  
  
        "Uh... the patient was a relative of Peter's." As Mark said this, Carter managed to pale even more. "I'm not sure how closely related they are, but..."  
  
        "I killed a member of Peter's family. No wonder he's so mad at me."  
  
        "We'll get this sorted out Carter."  
  
        "It's over," Carter said as he quickly exited the room.  
  
        A few moments after Carter left, Carol came in.  
  
        "Mark? What's going on? I thought I heard yelling a moment ago and Carter looked like he'd seen a ghost."  
  
        "Carol, I..."  
  
        "Oh my gosh. He died?" Carol gasped, noticing the patient in the bed for the first time.  
  
        "You knew him?"  
  
        "Yeah. I was helping Dr. Benton treat him. You know they're related, right?"  
  
        "How closely?"  
  
        "He's Peter's brother."  
  
XxXxXxXxXx  
  
        Carter was grateful that his shift had been almost over, and had left the hospital as quickly as possible. He could still hear Benton's hurtful words in his head. How could I have been so stupid? he thought to himself. Angrily, he swiped at the tears clouding his vision as he drove home.  
  
        Once in his apartment, Carter stumbled into the kitchen. He stood looking out the window. I was so sure I'd done everything right, he thought to himself.  
  
        Outside, a car drove slowly down the street and parked in front of the building. 


	2. Chapter 2

There is some violence in this chapter, nothing graphic, though. There are also minor spoilers through the third and fourth seasons, but nothing big.  
  
XxXxXxXx  
  
Carter reached a glass down from the cupboard and started to fill it with water. The sound of the water masked the sound of the door opening, and footsteps entering the kitchen.  
  
        Before Carter could react, a powerful force grabbed him from behind, throwing him into the opposite wall. The glass shattered on the ground, as Carter managed to remain on his feet.  
  
        Out of the corner of his eye he saw the man come at him again. Instinct kicked in, and he raised his knee feeling it firmly connect with the mans groin. He grunted and doubled over. Carter delivered a solid punch to the mans face knocking him over, and made a dash for the phone.  
  
        Just as his hand grabbed the receiver, Carter was tackled from behind, pulling the phone from the wall as he fell. His attacker landing on top of him, and glass biting into his hands and chest.  
  
        The attacker was on his feet faster than Carter, and quickly kicked him in the midsection. As Carter curled into a ball to protect his stomach, a powerful kick was delivered to his back.  
  
        Carter could feel the darkness starting to consume him. He felt the man's foot connect with his head, and gave up the fight.  
  
        Satisfied Carter was unconscious, the man fled the apartment, shutting the door behind him.  
  
XxXxXxXx  
  
        Kerry Weaver was not a happy person. After working a double shift, all she wanted was to go home and soak in a nice hot bubble bath. Of course that wouldn't be happening anytime soon. Not only had Dr. Carter left before the end of his shift, but there was a wild rumour flying around that he'd also killed a patient.  
  
        She stalked into the exam room to find Anspaugh, Mark and Carol already there.  
  
        "Dr. Weaver, glad you could join us," Anspaugh greeted her. "I know it's been a busy day, and we all want to go home, so lets make this quick."  
  
        "What exactly is going on here?" Kerry demanded.  
  
        "There have been some very serious accusations made against Dr. Carter," Anspaugh started.  
  
        "What kind of accusations?" Kerry asked, a bit softer.  
  
        "Dr. Benton believes that Carter killed this patient by accidentally injecting him with potassium instead of epinephrine," Mark started.  
  
        "What?! Who was helping him that witnessed this?"  
  
        "No one. Carter said he stumbled onto this patient during the mass casualty alert who was already in v-fib, and there wasn't time to get help."  
  
        "So he got confused and accidentally injected the potassium," Kerry finished. "So how does Peter fit into this?"  
  
        There was a moment of silence before Carol spoke up.  
  
        "The patient was Peter's brother."  
  
        "Oh God. I didn't even know Peter had a brother," Kerry stated.  
  
        "It was his half brother actually. Same father, different mother. That's why they have the same last name."  
  
        "And why was he a patient here?"  
  
        "He had end stage lung cancer. He was a very heavy smoker."  
  
        "Dr. Greene informed me that two days ago another patient who was crashing died when Dr. Carter tried to run it without another doctor. Now, I know we don't want to believe this, but Dr. Carter may be at fault. That is why it is my recommendation that he be suspended until further notice," Anspaugh declared.  
  
        "Carter didn't do this," Mark said. "He's just not that careless."  
  
        "I'm sorry, Dr. Greene, but there's nothing else I can do."  
  
XxXxXxXx  
  
        Carter slowly drifted back to consciousness. His skull pounded in time with his heart beat, and it took him a moment to realize he was actually lying on the kitchen floor in his apartment. It was the shrill beeping of his pager that had awoken him.  
  
        Unable to find the strength to reach his pager, he succumbed to the darkness once more.  
  
XxXxXxXx  
  
        Mark hung up the phone feeling discouraged, and a little worried. He'd tried phoning Carter several times, but always got the busy signal. He had also tried paging him, but to no avail.  
  
        Mark sighed and made his way back to the exam room where Carol was starting to clean up.  
  
        "Hey Carol," Mark greeted her.  
  
        "Oh, hi Mark. Transport should be here anytime for the body," Carol filled him in.  
  
        "This is wrong, Carol. Carter didn't do this."  
  
        "We don't know that for sure, Mark. Everyone makes mistakes."  
  
        "This just doesn't feel right. Has anyone ordered a blood test on this guy?"  
  
        "They're doing an autopsy to find the cause of death. Anspaugh wants to know why he went into v-fib in the first place. The fact that no one even noticed something was wrong has Anspaugh worried about law suits."  
  
        Mark nodded his head, thinking.  
  
        "Okay. As soon as you know anything, you come find me. Alright?" Mark asked.  
  
        "Sure, Mark."  
  
        Mark went back to the desk to get a chart and resume working. He had this nagging feeling that something here was terribly amiss.  
  
XxXxXxXx  
  
        Carter slowly drifted back to consciousness for the second time, and wished he hadn't. Incredible pain radiated from his chest and head, and he could feel something warm and moist under his hands.  
  
        Slowly, he moved to a sitting position and caught his breath. Carter wasn't sure what exactly had happened. One minute he was getting a drink, the next some guy was attacking him. Feeling a little disoriented, Carter decided the first thing he should do is clean his wounds.  
  
        Groaning, he made his way to the bathroom and took in his appearance in the mirror. A huge, dark bruise had started forming around his eye. His shirt had been cut by the glass, and blood had soaked through in numerous spots.  
  
        As he changed his shirt and cleaned himself up, he discovered it wasn't as bad as originally thought. None of the cuts on his chest and hands would need stitches, and none of his ribs were broken.  
  
        Carter knew he should report this to the police, but found that not only had his phone been ripped off the wall, but the phone cord had been stretched so far it had broken in half.  
  
        Carter was disturbed from his thoughts by a sudden pounding on the door. His first instinct was to hide. What if his assailant had come back? That thought was quickly dismissed as Carter realized his attacker probably wouldn't be knocking.  
  
XxXxXxXx  
  
        Peter angrily pounded on the door again. Carter had to be here.  
  
        "Carter! Open up the damn door!" he yelled.  
  
        It hadn't been Peter's idea to come here. He was still so angry at the kid that he wouldn't care if he never saw him again. Carla and Jackie had ganged up on him. They said they were sick and tired of his foul mood and bitching, and that he had to clear things up with Carter, or don't come back. Peter knew having either of those two women mad at you wasn't a pleasant experience.  
  
        Finally, Peter heard the door unlock and slowly open to reveal a very unhappy looking Carter. The first thing Peter noticed was the vicious bruise around Carter's eye.  
  
        "What the hell happened to your face?" Benton demanded.  
  
        "I walked into a door," Carter replied, his voice dripping with sarcasm. In light of what had just happened, Carter was not happy to see Peter.  
  
        "Whatever, Carter. I need to talk to you about what happened this afternoon."  
  
        Carter almost invited Peter in when he remembered the kitchen floor was still covered with broken glass and blood.  
  
        "So what do you have to say?" Carter asked, his voice devoid of emotion. Still shaken from the attack, the incident, and manners, were last on his list of things to worry about.  
  
        "I think it would be better if we talked inside."  
  
        "Well I don't."  
  
        "What the hell is your problem, man? If you'd rather not talk then I don't know why the hell I'm wasting my time with you. I don't know why I even bothered with you in the first place!" Peter snapped.  
  
        It was then that Peter noticed the cuts on Carter's hand, and that he was standing awkwardly. Almost bent over, protecting his ribs. Peter lowered his voice and tried to soften it.  
  
        "What are you not telling me, Carter?" Getting no response, Benton tried again. "What the hell's going on?"  
  
        Carter lowered his head, and Peter pushed past him into the apartment. It didn't take him long to find the blood and glass all over the floor.  
  
        "Carter," Peter's voice softened considerably. "What happened?"  
  
        "Isn't it obvious? I tripped carrying a glass of water," Carter snapped. He was starting to lose control of his emotions.  
  
        "Cut the crap, Carter! What the hell happened?"  
  
        "Why do you care! I thought you were through with me!" Carter threw back Benton's hurtful words from earlier.  
  
        Peter closed his eyes for a few seconds and counted to ten. He hadn't come here to dig a deeper hole.  
  
        "Carter, believe it or not I came here to talk about today. I didn't come to pick a fight. Now drop the bull shit and tell me what the hell happened!" Peter said this as he subconsciously took a step closer to Carter. He was momentarily stunned when Carter backed up so quickly his back rammed into the counter.  
  
        The flash of fear in Carter's eyes had been replaced by a look of sheer agony as the counter dug into his bruised back.  
  
        Peter pushed his anger aside. He couldn't just stand here and watch Carter in obvious pain. He knew he was the last person Carter would open up to. The only way to find out what had happened was to be forceful about it.  
  
        Before Carter could react again, Peter walked over and yanked up the back of his shirt, exposing the terrible bruising on his lower back.  
  
        Peter had only gotten a glimpse of Carter's back before he jerked away and moved to the center of the kitchen.  
  
        "I think you should leave now Dr. Benton."  
  
        "No. Not until you tell me what's going on. This time, Carter, I want the truth," Peter said as sincerely as he could muster. He had already made a terrible mistake by ignoring Dennis Gant, and Dennis had paid the highest price. He would not make that same mistake with Carter.  
  
        Carter sighed and his shoulders slumped sadly. This is what it takes to get Benton to care? Slowly, he started to explain what had happened. He knew there was no backing out of this.  
  
        "I don't know what happened." He saw Peter about to object, but kept going. "I came home, got a glass of water, and this guy attacked me. I blacked out. When I came to, he was gone." Carter made it as brief as possible. Benton was the last person he wanted to talk to about this.  
  
        "Why didn't you call the police?"  
  
        "If you'll notice, my phone isn't exactly in working order."  
  
        Peter glanced over at the phone, and sure enough the cord was broken. What the hell had happened to cause this?  
  
        "Carter, I don't know what the hell is happening here, but I think you should come to the hospital and get yourself checked out."  
  
        Carter snorted and slumped down in a chair, careful of his back.  
  
        "I'm sure I'm not very welcome at the moment. How long do you think it is before they start calling me the grim reaper," Carter dryly remarked.  
  
        "Carter, people are fallible, you..."  
  
        "I killed your brother! How can you stand to look at me?" Carter pleaded.  
  
        "Half-brother, Carter. If you'll notice, I'm not exactly crying a river. It's a long story that I don't want to get into. Basically, we shared the same father, and last name. That's all I know about him."  
  
        "I killed him. It doesn't matter how close you were to him. He's dead. I was so sure it was epinephrine."  
  
        Peter was starting to feel uncomfortable with where this conversation was going. He was never able to comfort people. Other peoples emotions and feelings were never something he concerned himself with. He had focused his life on fixing physical problems, not emotional ones.  
  
        "Carter, you don't look very good, man. Come with me to the hospital," Peter asked. He could see bits of blood starting to stain the front of Carter's shirt.  
  
        "No. I don't think I could face them right now."  
  
XxXxXxXx  
  
        Mark sat in the lounge looking over Michael Benton's chart. It appeared that earlier in the day he had gone into v-fib, and epinephrine had been administered.  
  
        "Hey, Mark," Carol greeted as she strolled into the lounge. "I've got the labs on Michael, and I'm afraid it's not good news."  
  
        Mark silently took the labs and looked over them. Two things popped out at him. The high levels of epinephrine, and the fatal level of potassium.  
  
        "Damn," Mark muttered. "Carol, I'm gonna be in the morgue. You can page me if a trauma comes in." 


	3. Chapter 3

Thanks for the reviews guys! The stuff here about Peter's family is made up, but since the show didn't go in depth into his family, it seems to work.  
  
XxXxXxXx  
  
Carter had become increasingly agitated. The pain from his injuries was starting to get to him. He realized he hadn't gotten around to taking any pain killers as Peter had arrived before he got to it. If that wasn't enough, he was not only facing the end of his career, but he was starting to worry about a repeat attack. Nothing had been stolen. Why break into someone's apartment to beat them up, but not take anything? Frustrated, tired, and in pain, Carter laid his head down on the kitchen table.  
  
"Carter, man, you okay?" Peter quietly asked, before realizing what a stupid question that was. Receiving no response, Peter quietly walked over, careful of the broken glass, and placed his fingers on Carters neck to check his pulse. He was relieved to feel a steady pulse, and was shocked when Carter suddenly jerked his head up, and jumped from the chair.  
  
"Whoa, take it easy, man, I'm not going to hurt you."  
  
Carter took a minute to get his bearings. Had he just dozed off at his kitchen table in front of Benton?  
  
"I'm sorry Dr. Benton. I think you should leave now so I can get some rest."  
  
"No, Carter. You're hurt. I don't know how bad, so you need to be checked out. You probably have a concussion. If you were unconscious for any length of time then you need over night observation. Not only that, but someone broke in here and beat the crap out of you for no obvious reason. The police need to be notified."  
  
"I'll do it in the morning. I really don't feel well enough to go to the police station." Carter realized too late that he had just voiced the fact out loud that his injuries were getting to him. This did not go unnoticed by Benton.  
  
"Come on, Carter. Let's go." Peter moved towards the front door to take Carter to the hospital.  
  
"No, Dr. Benton. I..."  
  
"Carter! You are in no position to tell me what to do. Let's go."  
  
Peter held the door open for Carter, who walked out with shoulders slumped and head down. I can't do anything right, he thought to himself.  
  
The ride to the hospital was spent in silence. Carter rested his head against the window, and Peter concentrated on the road; a million thoughts racing through his mind. It was only now starting to sink in that Michael was actually dead. Not that he particularly cared much. His father had told him of Michael's existence when he was 10. Said Michael was a mistake that had happened when he was very young. Peter had never even met Michael. The only stuff he knew about Michael came from his father when he decided to talk about him. Apparently Michael was much older than he was, and was a constant gambler. Michael would occasionally write to his father asking for money when he got in over his head. Once Peter got into med school, family was the last thing on his mind. He hadn't heard anything about Michael since then.  
  
Peter pulled into the hospital parking lot and turned off the ignition.  
  
"We're here, Carter," he stated.  
  
"I know."  
  
Together they walked through the ambulance bay doors and into the chaos that was the ER. Jerry, who was at the front desk, did a double take when he saw Carter.  
  
"Dr. C., are you alright?" he asked.  
  
"What's open, Jerry," Peter asked in a tone that demanded Jerry mind his own business.  
  
"Ah..." Jerry started, glancing at the board. "Exam 4."  
  
"Find Dr. Greene and Haleh, and have them meet us there."  
  
Jerry was left standing stunned, as Carter and Peter retreated to the exam room. Jerry knew Peter Benton was not someone you disobeyed. Consulting with the board, the desk clerk went in search of Dr. Greene and Haleh.  
  
XxXxXxXx  
  
Just as Peter had gotten Carter settled on the gurney, Dr. Greene and Haleh entered the exam room, sharing concerned and astonished looks.  
  
"What the hell happened?" Mark demanded.  
  
"Carter was attacked in his apartment. He has sustained..." Peter started.  
  
"He is fine," Carter interrupted. "This isn't necessary. It's not as bad as it looks."  
  
"Well it looks pretty bad, Carter," Haleh interjected. "Ill get a BP."  
  
"Thank you, Haleh. Mark, I want this kept quiet. The last thing Carter needs is another rumour flying around."  
  
"I'm surprised to hear that coming from you, Peter, considering what happened this afternoon. I thought you were going to rip out Carter's throat. Aren't you upset?"  
  
"It's a long story, Mark, that I don't want to get into right now. When we're done here the police will need to be notified," Peter said as he got out his stethoscope and listened to Carter's chest.  
  
"BP is a little low, 90/50, pulse 85," Haleh stated.  
  
"Did you lose consciousness at all?" Mark asked as he looked at Carter's eyes with his penlight.  
  
"Yeah. I'm not sure how long though."  
  
"Dr. Carter," Anspaugh greeted as he entered the exam room. "The rumour mill is working overtime tonight. I heard from a tech on the fourth floor that Peter beat you up because he was upset about this afternoon."  
  
At hearing this, both Peter's and Carter's mouths fell open and they stared at each other.  
  
Benton was the first to speak up.  
  
"I can assure you Dr. Anspaugh, that's not what happened."  
  
"Oh, I know that Peter. I need to speak to you about the incident this afternoon, Dr. Carter."  
  
"May as well get it over with. Right?"  
  
"Dr. Greene alerted me to some disturbing lab results. There was a high level of epinephrine, and a fatal level of potassium found in Michael Benton's blood."  
  
"Oh, God. It was my fault."  
  
"To make matters worse, Michael Benton was in v-fib earlier in the day and epi was administered. That explains the epi in his blood. Unfortunately it doesn't explain the potassium. With the given time frame, the speed potassium works, you are the only person that was with Michael who could have injected the potassium. Given you were also involved in a similar incident a few days ago involving an elderly man, I have no other choice but to place you under suspension until further notice."  
  
"I understand," Carter said dejectedly.  
  
XxXxXxXx  
  
The rest of the night passed slowly for Carter. He was sent for a head CT, but had to wait forever due to the fact that radiology was once again backed up. Not only was radiology slow, but the cops had yet to show up.  
  
The gossip was also out of control. Everyone had their own say as to what really happened, and wouldn't hesitate to spread it around the hospital. Crowds kept gathering around his exam room or radiology.  
  
XxXxXxXx  
  
Mark Greene stood in the middle of the room where Michael had died, and looked around. Something felt off about this fiasco. Carter kept a cool head during traumas. He almost never made mistakes, if ever. It's pretty hard to misread potassium as epinephrine. If he had made a calculation error, and overdosed, that would be believable. But misreading like that?  
  
Mark couldn't stop his mind from flashing back to his own attack. The horror and fear he had felt at being attacked in the hospital was something that will change his outlook for the rest of his life. Carter had been attacked in his own home. The assailant had taken the time to learn where Carter lived. Nothing was stolen so it wasn't a robbery. Peter had said there was no damage to the outside of the apartment door, so either Carter didn't lock it, or the attacker took the time the pick the lock.  
  
Michael's body and the gurney he'd been on had been wheeled down to the morgue, leaving a big open space where the bed had been. The table that had been beside the bed was still there.  
  
Dr. Greene walked over and picked up the bottle of potassium. Partly to reassure himself it really was potassium. He also picked up the syringe that was lying beside the potassium, put the cap on it, and shoved it into his pocket. He was surprised it hadn't been disposed of yet. Things really are getting lax around here.  
  
As he turned to leave, light glinting off a piece of metal under the table caught his eye. Walking over, he picked it up. His breath hitched in his chest as he read the label. 


	4. Chapter 4

Jerry was doing his best to keep up with the pandemonium. Charts were piling up, phones ringing off the hook, and people from the waiting room wouldn't stop pestering him about how long they'd been waiting. Of course this was the day Randi called in sick.  
  
"Excuse me," a man in a boring brown suit said to Jerry. "I'm looking for Dr. John Carter."  
  
"I'm sorry, he's not working tonight. You'll have to sit in chairs and see someone else," Jerry replied, as he turned to answer the phone.  
  
"Maybe I should introduce myself. Detective Andersen, Chicago PD."  
  
The detective could see the light dawn in Jerry's eyes as he realized why the detective was there.  
  
"Of course. He's in Exam 4. Down that hall on your left."  
  
The older detective curtly nodded and made his way down the hall. Twenty five years on the force and he still got stuck investigating these assault and battery cases. He didn't blame his partner for calling in sick today.  
  
Arriving at the exam room, he pushed open the door and was greeted by two inquisitive pairs of eyes.  
  
"Detective Craig Andersen, Chicago PD," he introduced as he flashed his badge. "I take it you're Dr. Carter?" he asked, looking at the young man on the gurney with the obvious bruising.  
  
"That's me," he answered with no enthusiasm.  
  
"I'm Dr. Benton. I treated Dr. Carter when he came in."  
  
"So I guessed. I need to ask you about the attack this afternoon.," Craig said as he turned his attention to Carter. "Would you like Dr. Benton to leave?"  
  
"I don't care. He can stay if he wants to."  
  
"I'm staying," Benton said in a voice that suggested the only way to get him out would be to carry him.  
  
"Whatever," Andersen muttered. "So, start from the beginning. Say, from where you parked your car at the apartment building. Did you see anyone suspicious around? Anyone who didn't belong?"  
  
"No. I parked my car, got to my apartment, went to the kitchen for a glass of water.."  
  
"So, locking your door isn't high on your list of priorities then."  
  
"I don't know. Maybe I locked it. I can't remember," Carter mumbled.  
  
"Locks are there for a reason," Andersen said. "It's guys like you that keep me in business," he said low enough that only he could hear. "Continue."  
  
"When I got the water, someone grabbed me from behind. I tried to fight back, but he was strong. I passed out, and he left." Carter finished that last part quickly. He didn't want to be speaking about this anymore than he had to. Especially in front of Benton.  
  
"I see. Did he say anything?"  
  
"No."  
  
"Did he take anything?"  
  
"No."  
  
"Did you see his face?"  
  
"No."  
  
"Did he leave a note?"  
  
"No."  
  
"Well that was very helpful. It should be so much easier to catch this guy now."  
  
"Drop the sarcasm," Peter growled from the corner of the room. "We don't need it here."  
  
"Well excuse me." Andersen turned his attention back to Carter, who was starting to look a little tired. "Can you think of anyone who'd want to hurt you? Any wayward patients?"  
  
"Well, ... I....uh,"  
  
"Just spit it out," Andersen sighed, earning another glare from Benton.  
  
"A patient I was... looking after... died today."  
  
"Uh huh. And you don't think that pissed off his family? You didn't intentionally kill the guy did you?" the detective joked.  
  
Carter paled considerably at this comment. Noticing this, Peter kept his anger in check, and decided it was time to set this wise-ass cop straight.  
  
"Detective Andersen. Outside. Now," Peter growled as he held open the door for the detective.  
  
"Oh, Im sorry," Craig said as he arrogantly strolled out the door. "Hit a nerve, did I?"  
  
"Can it. As far as I'm concerned, you are a nuisance, and I'd like nothing better than for you to leave. Unfortunately, you can't as Carter is depending on you to catch this guy, as sad as that may seem. You are treading on very thin ice right now. I suggest you curb your attitude right now, or you'll find yourself on your ass so fast..."  
  
"Alright, alright. I get the point. Dr. Carter messed up and you're protecting him. That's admirable, but I need to know what happened this afternoon."  
  
Peter took a minute to calm down before answering.  
  
"A patient died today when Carter was attending to him. There is some question as to whether or not Carter made a mistake. The patient was Michael Benton. My half brother."  
  
At hearing this, the detectives eyebrows shot up so far, Peter thought they might disappear.  
  
"Oh, really. And you're not upset about his? Not a tear to shed for your brother?"  
  
"Half brother," Peter corrected. "We weren't close. This was the first time I'd seen him. Except for having the same father, we have nothing else in common. All I can tell you is that he was a gambler, and was constantly in debt."  
  
"I see. And you don't think any of his other relatives would like to know about his untimely demise?"  
  
"It wasn't so untimely. He had lung cancer. He didn't have long left. As far as family goes, his father is dead, and I don't know about any of his other family. We've been searching, but haven't found anyone," Peter finished.  
  
"Thank you for your time. Be sure to thank Dr. Carter for me." The detective was gone before Peter could blink.  
  
As Peter was about to go back into the exam room, he heard someone shouting his name. Turning, he saw an out of breath Mark Greene jog over to him.  
  
"Peter, you have to see this," Mark panted as he came to a stop in front of Peter.  
  
"What?" Peter sighed. He was getting tired of people bothering him.  
  
Mark held out the bottle he had found in the room Michael had been in. Peter begrudgingly took at and glanced at the label.  
  
"Epinephrine. So?"  
  
"So, it was under the table that had been beside Michael's bed." 


	5. Chapter 5

Peter suddenly understood what Mark was referring to.  
  
"So, you're saying that Carter gave him epi, but in the fuss it got knocked off the table and rolled under it?" Peter inquired.  
  
"I hope so. I'm getting the syringe tested that was on the table as well to see what was in it. It still doesn't explain the potassium though. What did the detective say?" Mark asked, changing the subject.  
  
"He was no help. I'm admitting Carter for overnight observation. He was unconscious for some time. I have to talk to Carter. Let me know what you find in the syringe," Peter muttered, and was gone.  
  
XxXxXxXx  
  
Peter saw Carter was starting to doze off, and turned to leave the room, not wanting to disturb him.  
  
"Dr. Benton?" a tired voice asked, just as Peter was about to leave.  
  
"Yeah, Carter?"  
  
"I'm sorry for dragging you into this. You should have been home for dinner a long time ago," Carter whispered.  
  
"Don't worry about it, man. Get some rest. I'm admitting you for the night, so we'll talk in the morning." Peter left before Carter could say anything else. Carter was right though. He had already missed dinner. Carla wouldn't be very happy with him.  
  
Making his way to the admit desk, he noted a crowd of nurses whispering about something, and constantly looking over in his direction. He felt anger at the fact that these people had nothing better to do then gossip about a colleague.  
  
He pointedly ignored them, and picked up the phone to call Carla. He was disappointed to get the answering machine. Leaving a brief message, he hung up and went in search of Mark. He was worried about Carter, but also needed to get home. Reese hadn't been home from the hospital long, and he needed to see him.  
  
XxXxXxXx  
  
Peter was dead on his feet. Reese had not stopped crying all night, and now he felt like a zombie. Maybe he could talk that new surgeon, Elizabeth, into covering for him.  
  
He walked up to the admit desk to check the board. Sure enough, Carter was still in exam 4.  
  
"Hey, Dr. Benton," Randi greeted him. "Interested in hearing the newest gossip about Carter's attack?"  
  
"No, Randi, I'm not. Don't you have..." Peter was cut off.  
  
"The cops are in with him now. The rumour mill is saying Carter was attacked because this drug dealer wants money from him."  
  
Peter was about to say how ludicrous that was when Dr. Weaver interrupted their conversation.  
  
"Peter, I need to speak with you. Something has come up."  
  
Kerry led him to the lounge, leaving Randi at the desk with a smug smile on her face.  
  
"What is it?" asked Benton impatiently.  
  
"Randi wasn't so far off with her recent gossip. The cops are in with Carter now. I don't know exactly what's going on, but they found a note at Carter's apartment. It has something to do with Michael's death. And there's more."  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"Mark got a call from the morgue attendant last night shortly after you left. He found a syringe hidden in Michael's bed sheets. Tests confirmed it had potassium in it."  
  
"What about the syringe Mark found?"  
  
"There was epinephrine in that one. Something very strange is going on Peter. I don't want you discuss this with anyone but Mark, Anspaugh, and I. Okay?"  
  
"Yeah, whatever. I need to talk to Carter." Peter quickly left the lounge, a feeling of foreboding in his stomach. Something was starting to feel very wrong.  
  
His feelings of distress were amplified when he entered the exam room to find two cops in an intense conversation with Carter. Carter looked upset about something, but definitely more alert than he had last night.  
  
"Ah, Dr. Benton," Andersen greeted him. "This is my partner, Greg Lowell."  
  
Peter glanced at the younger cop before turning his attention back to Andersen.  
  
"You have that look, Dr. Benton. The 'why was I left out of the loop, I'm involved here too' look. Well, I don't mind telling you, but there is some very serious shit going on here." 


	6. Chapter 6

"Would you guys excuse us? I need to examine Dr. Carter."  
  
The detectives left, and Peter turned to Carter.  
  
"You don't need to examine me, Dr. Benton. Weaver just did that. I'm..."  
  
"Carter. What the hell is going on?" Peter demanded, as he started to pace. "Do you have any idea what people are saying out there? Weaver thinks your attacker was connected with Michael! That some note was left at your apartment."  
  
"A note was left," Carter said.  
  
"What? What is going on here?"  
  
Carter let out a sigh. Everything was happening at once, and it was starting to overwhelm him. Michael dying, his being suspended, the attack, and now the news the police had just shared with him.  
  
"Andersen and his partner went to my apartment last night after our discussion. They found a note pinned to the door."  
  
"Well that wasn't there when we left," Peter pointed out.  
  
"Detective Andersen said the attacker must have come back , which means this was obviously planned."  
  
"What did the note say? How is it connected with Michael?"  
  
"The note said something about me paying for the death of Michael. Turns out Michael has a rap sheet. Pretty serious stuff Andersen said. Assault, possession, he had ties to some nasty people. Apparently these people are upset because Michael owed them money, and since I'm the one that killed him..." Carter trailed off.  
  
"What?! That's crazy! Michael wasn't involved in that kind of thing. He was a gambler, not a drug dealer!" Benton yelled, obviously upset. He completely missed Carters self-deprecating comment.  
  
"He didn't say he was a drug dealer. Andersen didn't elaborate much on that." As Carter said this, he started to get up from the bed.  
  
"What are you doing, Carter?"  
  
"Weaver released me. I'm going back to my apartment," Carter replied.  
  
XxXxXxXx  
  
Andersen and Lowell stood outside exam 4, deep in conversation about the recent events.  
  
"You got that file I sent you last night?" Andersen asked his younger partner.  
  
"Yeah. The one about that Dr. Greene being attacked in the hospital a few months ago? You don't think these two attacks are related, do you?" Lowell asked.  
  
Andersen gave his partner a bewildered look before continuing.  
  
"No. I was hoping you'd notice that cameras have been mounted at certain points around the ER? That maybe they captured something suspicious? I talked with Dr. Greene earlier, and the plot thickens. He found a bottle of epinephrine on the floor in Michael Bentons room. And after that, a morgue attendant found a syringe in Michaels bedding. The syringe had potassium in it," Craig explained.  
  
Detective Andersen took one look at the glazed over eyes his partner was currently sporting, and decided he obviously needed to elaborate.  
  
"This means, Sherlock, that maybe Dr. Carter didn't kill Michael Benton after all. The syringe with potassium was in the bed sheets. I doubt Dr. Carter would have placed it there on purpose."  
  
"So, what? Michael killed himself? Wouldn't stake the ranch on that one," Greg chuckled.  
  
"Why the hell wouldn't he kill himself? He had lung cancer, was weeks, maybe days away from buying the farm, and was in heavy debt to some pretty scary guys. Suicide may have looked like the only way out."  
  
"And just how are we supposed to prove this?"  
  
"Well, for starters we can get the tapes from the cameras and collect the syringes that were found at the crime scene for fingerprinting," Craig said. "Who did I piss off to get stuck with you?"  
  
"Oh, I don't know. Maybe its your lovely sense of humour, or your caring, gentle way with people," Greg retorted.  
  
Andersen and Lowell entered the exam room one more time to fill Dr. Carter in on what they were up to, and then went about gathering the tapes from the cameras. 


	7. Chapter 7

Thanks for the reviews guys!  
  
XxXxXxXx  
  
"Carter, are you nuts, man? You can't go back to your apartment!" Peter said, completely taken aback. "Someone is after you. They already know..."  
  
"I know, but where do you suggest I go?" Carter replied as he hopped off the gurney and retrieved his clothes, wincing as his ribs twinged.  
  
"And hello again," Andersen greeted them as he strolled in with his partner in tow. "Leaving, are we? I hope you're not going home."  
  
Peter was relieved to hear the detective say that. Carter was stubborn enough, and needed to be told he couldn't go to his apartment by more than one person before he'd listen.  
  
"Good. You're coming home with me, Carter," Peter intoned.  
  
Andersen's eyebrows went up so high they almost disappeared.  
  
"Ooh, well isn't this sweet. Better take him up on that offer Dr. Carter," Andersen remarked, while has partner stood looking up at the ceiling, bored out of his mind.  
  
Suddenly, a very flustered Jerry burst through the door, holding a note in his hand.  
  
"Dr. C! A guy just delivered this for you. He said it was urgent," Jerry gasped, completely out of breath.  
  
Carter limped over and tentatively took the note from Jerry's hand, who then left the room. A knot was forming in his stomach. No one had ever hand delivered him a letter. He could feel everyone's eyes on his as he tore the white envelope open and removed a single slip of paper. On it were written three simple words. Watch your back.  
  
With a shaky hand he handed the letter to Andersen, who read it and didn't seem surprised.  
  
"Well, I guess you can forget about going home with the good doctor," Craig stated.  
  
Benton then snatched the letter from the detective, curious as to what had turned Carter pale. Andersen was right. With a threat like this, it wouldn't be good for anyone if Carter stayed with him. An image of Reese came into his mind.  
  
"So where would you suggest Carter stays?"  
  
"I guess, Dr. Carter, you are now under the hospitality of the Chicago PD," Craig said with a huge grin.  
  
"So what, I go to a safe house?" Carter asked as he bent down to put on his shoes.  
  
"Uh, I suppose you could call it that. Michael Benton and his associates have been wanted by the police for years. These elusive people, and I use the term loosely, have come out of the woodwork to get you. I could say its our lucky day. You'll be sent to a small house owned by the PD, and cops will be stationed outside to keep watch. This may be our only chance at nailing these people," Craig said, almost jovially.  
  
"Yeah," piped up Lowell. "We'll take you to your place to get some things, then we'll take you to the house. In the meantime, Andersen and I will get the tapes from the cameras here and review those."  
  
XxXxXxXx  
  
Carter was distressed to approach his apartment and see the yellow crime scene tape across his door. Lowell moved it out of the way so he could get past without having to duck under it, as this would aggravate his sore stomach and back.  
  
The detective had insisted that not even Benton could know where he was. Carter knew it was for the best. Maybe Peter would forget about him and think about the things that really mattered. Like Reese and surgery. Since he was suspended, its not like this vacation, as Andersen put it, would interfere with his work.  
  
He entered his kitchen and saw the broken glass and blood was still on the floor. Carter went to the bedroom and quickly packed a couple things, completely unsure of what the next couple days would hold.  
  
XxXxXxXx  
  
After collecting mug shots of the people with ties to Michael, Andersen collected the tapes from the security cameras and began skimming through them, looking for any familiar faces.  
  
He started with the camera the covered the hallway leading to the room Michael died in. Many people had down the hall, but after watching the tape three times, Andersen was disappointed to not see any familiar faces. Moving on, he picked the tape that covered the admit desk, hoping to see the man that had delivered the letter.  
  
The detective perked up when he saw a man in a black trench coat walk up to the desk, hand a letter to Jerry, and quickly leave. Going back to the other tape, Andersen was thrilled to see the same man go down the hall, and leave again a few minutes later. Finally, his first big break.  
  
He froze the tape and printed off the frame that showed most of the guys face. As he was about to leave, one of the forensics guys came in with the finger print results.  
  
"Hey, I got your prints. I started with the syringe found in Michael Benton's bed sheets as it was the most suspicious. I ran the prints and they match Charles Novacek." As he said this, he handed the mug shot to Craig who compared it to the print off from the tape. Exact match.  
  
"Good work. What about the other things I gave you?"  
  
"His prints were also on the potassium bottle. On the other syringe, and epinephrine bottle, I found prints that weren't on file. Im assuming they belong to that doctor, but you should get his prints too."  
  
"So doc's in the clear?"  
  
"Yep."  
  
XxXxXxXx  
  
Days later, Carter was still holed up at the safe house. Anspaugh had been notified of the findings and the suspension had been lifted.  
  
Carter looked out his bedroom window for the umpteenth time to reassure himself the police were still out there. Another note had been delivered to the hospital. The police had assured him he was safe. The doctor settled himself into the bed and fell into a fitful sleep.  
  
Bang! Bang! Bang!  
  
Carter jolted awake to the sound of gunfire. His heart racing in his chest, he jumped out of bed and ran to the window. What he saw made him want to faint. One of the officers was lying in the middle of the road, possibly dead. The other officer was nowhere to be seen.  
  
He turned to bolt and was struck in the face by the butt of a gun. 


	8. Chapter 8

Here's the next part, I will have this whole story posted by Wednesday (because I'm leaving for British Columbia), including the newly written conclusion. That way I won't leave you guys hanging. Enjoy!  
  
XxXxXxXx  
  
"Mark!" Haleh yelled at the sleeping doctor. "Mark! Get up, GSW at the back door!"  
  
"What?" he slurred.  
  
"Trauma 2, now!"  
  
Mark jerked himself awake and stumbled into the trauma room as a gurney rushed in carrying a cop who had been shot. Doug ran in right after the gurney.  
  
"GSW to the abdomen..." Doris gave the bullet as Mark gloved up. The cop was mumbling as Mark gave orders to the various staff members.  
  
"What's his name?" Doug asked Doris.  
  
"Carl Rudy. He's pretty out of it. Keeps mumbling about some big plan gone awry, wants to talk to his partner," Doris reported as she turned to leave.  
  
"Do I dare ask what happened to his partner?" Doug inquired.  
  
"He's still at the scene. He was knocked out, but nothing serious." The paramedics collected their stuff and left the trauma room.  
  
"Officer Rudy? Carl?" Mark leant over and asked him. "Do you know where you are?"  
  
"...hospital..," he breathed. "Messed up.....big time."  
  
"We're sending you up to surgery to remove the bullet. You're stable right now, the wound wasn't too serious. Do you understand?"  
  
Benton bounded into the room before Carl could answer, ready to take him up to surgery, when words slipped out of his mouth that made Peter stop in his tracks.  
  
"Dr. Carter....dead, right?"  
  
The whole room froze for a brief second.  
  
"What?!" Peter gasped, incredulous. He leaned closer to the cop to see if he could get more information out of him. He was delirious, he wasn't thinking straight. But how could he know about Carter?"  
  
"..howdy partner, that you?" the officer mumbled.  
  
"Yeah, I'm here," Peter answered, receiving warning glares from most of the people in the trauma room.  
  
"We're.. in deep shit...you know. Couldn't do the job," Carl paused for a minute to collect his breath. "Couldn't even do the job.... we weren't supposed to do in the first place."  
  
"What do you mean?" Peter asked, getting frantic. "What happened to Dr. Carter?"  
  
"Dead. Maybe. Kidnapped, I have no clue..."  
  
"Where.." Peter was about to ask but was sharply cut off by Mark.  
  
"That's enough Peter! This man needs to go to surgery. He doesn't know what he's saying."  
  
"I.." Peter protested.  
  
"Now! I'll call Andersen and see what's going on."  
  
The patient was wheeled down the hall and into the elevator with a very upset looking Peter Benton beside it. It had been days since he'd seen Carter, and he was starting to worry. What was it the cop had said? Couldn't do the job he wasn't supposed to do? He tried to calm his roiling stomach. Carter was at a safe house under police protection. He was actually safe. Right?  
  
XxXxXxXx  
  
Consciousness slowly descended upon Carter, jerking away the bliss he had felt while unconscious. Behind his eyelids he could see a rhythm of light. He'd see it coming. At first he'd see darkness, then a light would appear and slowly grow brighter and brighter before it would suddenly disappear. Another light would quickly arrive after though. This soothing pattern was relaxing and he was starting to fall asleep again.  
  
Carter was about to drift off again when he felt a quick jerking movement come from the bed he was lying on. No, not a bed. Something didn't seem quite right. He felt like he was moving. Another jolt forced him to briefly open his eyes and he was momentarily blinded by that light. A streetlight. He was in a car.  
  
He slowly moved his head and took in his surroundings. He was in the back seat of a car with his hands tied behind his back. From what he could tell, there was only the driver in the car with him.  
  
As Carter tried to sit up he elicited a groan as his previous injuries protested. The driver of the car looked into the rearview mirror and saw a pair of confused brown eyes looking back.  
  
"You're awake," he mumbled, his voice hoarse.  
  
Carter groaned again, although this time he wasn't sure if it was from pain, or this guy's propensity at stating the obvious.  
  
"Who are you?" Carter asked, after clearing his throat.  
  
"Oh I don't think I'm going to tell you that quite yet. But you can refer to me as, well, how 'bout Mike. It doesn't take a brain surgeon to figure out where that name come from," the driver said, then chuckled at his own bad joke.  
  
"What do you want with me?" Carter decided this guy was definitely off his hinges.  
  
"It's not a matter of what I want with you. It's what I want from you."  
  
"Which would be? I don't even know you."  
  
"Don't be so naive Dr. Carter. It doesn't matter if you know me or not, I know more about you. I also know about your, shall we say, well-to- do background."  
  
"You want money," Carter simply stated. He couldn't say he was surprised.  
  
"Score one for the absent minded doctor," the driver chuckled.  
  
"I'm not giving you anything."  
  
Before Carter could react, he was thrown forward with such force the impact with the back of the passenger seat almost knocked him out again. The driver had hit the brakes.  
  
A large hand came from the drivers seat and roughly grabbed his shirt.  
  
"Don't tell me what you're going to be doing," he growled. "Don't think you're going to get away. Everyone pays their debts to me, no matter what the cost. Got it?"  
  
Carter weakly nodded. He got a good whiff of alcohol on the guys breath and decided that despite the earlier act, this guy was definitely dangerous. 


	9. Chapter 9

After what felt like hours of driving, the car stopped with a jerk and Carter was hauled out of the seat and pushed into what looked like an abandoned house. The air was musty and cool, and the squeaking of the floor boards was the only thing to be heard. It was so dark Mike had to use a flashlight to navigate.  
  
"Where are you taking me?" Carter softly asked.  
  
"You'll see. I don't want anyone finding you. Lets just say you'll be stashed away until I need you again." Mike chuckled again at his own bad joke.  
  
With his hands still bound behind his back, he was roughly pushed into a dark room with enough force to cause him to lose his footing and fall. Carter suppressed the urge to yelp as he landed on his sore ribs, but wasn't going to give this guy the satisfaction.  
  
Without another word, Mike slammed the door shut, plunging him into darkness. There were no windows, and he didn't see a light before the door was shut.  
  
Carter felt his way over to the wall, and leaned against it, wondering if he'd ever see anyone again.  
  
XxXxXxXx  
  
Peter Benton was furious. He was going to call Andersen to get answers, and wild horses couldn't stop him. Mark had told him he was over reacting. That Officer Rudy had been out of it and didn't know what he was saying.  
  
He made his way to the lounge, and was grateful to see it was empty. Going over to the phone, he picked it up and dialed the number Andersen had gave him. After only two rings the detective answered.  
  
"Andersen," he said, sounding rather stressed.  
  
"What the hell's going on?" Peter demanded. The stress in Andersen's voice not getting past him. "Where's Carter?"  
  
"Dr. Benton? That you?"  
  
"I want you to tell me where Carter is. I...." Peter was rudely interrupted by a suddenly angry Andersen.  
  
"Everything is fine!" he snapped. "I don't know why the hell you think I'd tell you where John Carter is, but..."  
  
"Officer Rudy was more than happy to tell me the whereabouts of Carter, plus a little extra. What the hell do you think you're doing! I think your boss would be interested in this tidbit of information," Peter threatened.  
  
Craig was suspiciously quiet on the other line for a minute, weighing his options.  
  
"I'll tell you, but you can't tell anyone else, this is very sensitive information."  
  
Peter bit back the rude comment he was about to make. Suddenly Andersen seemed less like a detective, and more like a snitch trying to weasel his way out of trouble.  
  
"What did Rudy tell you?" his voice had seemed to calm a little.  
  
"That you're in way over your heads. Now what happened to Carter?"  
  
"I know what happened, I just don't know where he is. The safe house was found and Dr. Carter was taken."  
  
"What!?" Peter thundered. "You're telling me you guys couldn't get your head out of your asses long enough to do your jobs!"  
  
"Hey!" Craig yelled, then suddenly lowered his voice. "You're stepping over the line, Dr. Benton. Were going to get Dr. Carter. We have leads."  
  
"They won't be worth much if he's dead! Why should I trust you. You've done nothing but bullshit me..."  
  
"And I will be the one to find John Carter!" Craig shouted.  
  
"What makes you so sure! You don't..." Peter suddenly stopped his outburst as it clicked. Suddenly it all made sense, and he got a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. "You...you arranged this so Carter would be taken and you'd be the one to find him! I swear to..."  
  
"You are so wrong, Dr. Benton." Craig hung up before Benton could get out another word.  
  
Peter hung up the phone and remained in the lounge, stunned. If Andersen wouldn't tell him what he wanted to hear, he'd find someone who would.  
  
XxXxXxXx  
  
Carter was jerked awake by the thud of something hitting the ground at his feet. Mike approached him and hauled him up. Before Carter could react he saw the glint of a knife and expected the worst. He closed his eyes, but quickly opened them when he felt the rope around his hands give. Mike pocketed the knife and left, slamming the door again. This time though, Carter was not plunged into darkness. There was light coming in from under the door, and from holes in the wall. He guessed it must be day already.  
  
Picking up the object at his feet, he discovered it was a bottle of water. He quickly opened it and greedily drank. He had been worried Mike was going to leave him here to die, but if he was getting water, obviously Mike had plans for him.  
  
Half an hour later, Mike came back in and handed him a pail of water, a cloth, and a set of clothes.  
  
"Get cleaned up. We're going on a field trip."  
  
"Wait!" Carter yelled. "What do you want from me?"  
  
Mike laughed as he shut the door.  
  
Carter stood up and made his way over to the bucket and clothes. He was really dirty after spending the night on the dusty floor, and decided it would feel good to be clean.  
  
As he wiped off his face, his thoughts strayed to what had happened last night. The image of that cop lying in the street had been imprinted into his mind. Was he dead? What happened to the other cop? And who was this lunatic calling himself Mike? He must know Michael Benton. But what did he want from him?  
  
Carter quickly changed into the clothes Mike had left him. The khakis he'd left were a size too big, but he had a belt he could use. A groan slipped out as he pulled his dirty t-shirt over his head. At least Mike had given him a button-up shirt.  
  
The door opened one more time, and Mike escorted him out to the car. Mike once again bound his hands behind his back and thrust him into the back seat.  
  
"Where are we going?" Carter wanted answers from this guy.  
  
"Oh, to the bank," Mike replied like it was the most normal thing in the world.  
  
Carter wasn't surprised. He knew this guy wanted money, he just wasn't sure how he was planning on collecting it.  
  
"What makes you think I'm going to give you any money.?" Carter demanded.  
  
"I know a lot more about you than you might think, Dr. Carter. I'll bet you're still wondering what happened to those cops that were supposed to be guarding you last night. Worried they might have died trying to protect you? Do you think you could live with yourself if more people die because they were told to protect you, or because you screw up?" Carter remained silent. "Didn't think so."  
  
"Why did Michael owe you so much money? Were you his bookie?" Carter wanted to know who he was dealing with.  
  
"Not exactly. His job was so simple. Find buyers, get the merchandise from me, switch merchandise with money from the buyer, and return the money to me. It takes no thought. Of course always being in debt, temptation had to take control sometime."  
  
"So you're a drug dealer, and Michael was your errand boy. He did the actual dealing so that if caught, he'd take the fall, not you. Of course you raked in all the money while Michael did all the work."  
  
"Hey, I paid him. I paid him a lot. Stupid bastard couldn't stop gambling is what happened."  
  
"He stole from you and you killed him?" Carter incredulously asked. "Before he could pay you back? Sounds like Michael wasn't the only stupid..."  
  
A heavy hand snaked into the back seat and grabbed him by the shirt collar.  
  
"Don't you ever say that again! I'm getting my money whether Michael's dead or not!" 


	10. Chapter 10

Just to warn you guys, there is violence in this chapter. Nothing graphic, though. I'm glad you're enjoying it!  
  
XxXxXxXx  
  
"Hey, Brian, how's it going?"  
  
"Detective Lowell, long time no see," the older security guard greeted him. "What brings you to my little bank? Social visit I hope."  
  
"Sorry, 'fraid not. Andersen has the beat cops from the precinct out looking for this guy." Lowell handed Brian the picture of Charles Novacek. "Figured I'd help them out and flash the picture around."  
  
"Well, I haven't seen him, but I'll keep my eyes open," the older guard stated.  
  
"Oh yeah, and this guy as well." Greg pulled the picture of Carter out of his pocket.  
  
"This guy doesn't look so bad. Is he an accomplice?"  
  
"No. He's been kidnapped by Novacek. Or at least that's what Andersen tells me. I don't ask where he gets his information."  
  
"I'll be sure to look for them."  
  
"Thanks, Brian. Catch ya later!" Lowell yelled over his shoulder as he walked out the doors of the Global Bank.  
  
XxXxXxXx  
  
"Dr. Benton!" the unmistakable sounds of Dr. Anspaugh echoed down the hallway. "I hope you have a darned good reason for missing the laparotomy this morning. I had to have Dr. Brown assist because you were nowhere to be found."  
  
"Dr. Anspaugh, I want to..."  
  
"There's no excuse, Dr. Benton. This is a hospital. You can't go around playing hooky just for the fun of it!"  
  
"Carter's missing," Peter blurted out in hopes of getting Anspaugh's wrath focused on something other than him.  
  
"What?! He's not missing, they took him to a safe house."  
  
"It was attacked last night. Carter was taken."  
  
"Dear Lord." Anspaugh took Peter by the arm and pulled him to the side of the hall. "How do you know this? Why wasn't I informed until now?"  
  
"A patient told me. Listen, I wasn't in surgery because I was talking to the Captain at the 73rd precinct."  
  
"Who?" Anspaugh asked, getting exasperated.  
  
"The two detectives that are doing the investigation. I talked to their Captain. There's something big going down here. I don't think this was an accident," Peter whispered.  
  
"Dr. Benton, what on earth are you talking about?" Anspaugh hissed, completely confused.  
  
Peter was interrupted by a shout from the nurses station.  
  
"Hey guys, come look at this. Some loser's trying to rob a bank down the street from here."  
  
XxXxXxXx  
  
The car came to an abrupt halt, and Mike turned around to talk to Carter.  
  
"Okay, Dr. Carter, this is the big pay off. You are going to do exactly as I tell you. Try anything funny," Mike put a clip into his gun, "and there'll be trouble."  
  
"How much money do you want? What makes you think I have enough money?"  
  
"John Truman Carter III, I think you have more than enough. We'll start with $ 50,000 and go from there."  
  
"What?! I can't..." Carter protested.  
  
Mike took the safety off his gun. "Oh yes you can. And you will."  
  
Mike got out of the car and opened the back door. Once again he took out his knife and cut the ropes off of Carter's wrists before hauling him out. He visually inspected Carter before getting a thoughtful look on his face.  
  
"Something's missing." Mike reached down to the front dash of the car and grabbed a pair of sunglasses.  
  
"Put these on. You look like a street thug." Mike put his gun into the pocket of his coat then stepped up behind Carter and dug it into his back.  
  
As Carter ascended the steps to the Global Bank, he looked skywards and said a prayer to whoever was listening.  
  
They entered the bank and went to stand in line like they were two ordinary Joe's getting cash on their lunch breaks. Carter looked around and was grateful to see only three customers, two tellers, and a security guard. Not too many people around incase it all goes bad, he thought to himself.  
  
XxXxXxXx  
  
The guard watched two men enter the bank, but didn't think much of it until something about their body language made his hair stand on end. The older man had a hardened streetwise look, and the younger man, even though he was wearing sunglasses, was nervous. The older man's eyes were constantly moving, surveying the bank, and his hand was in his pocket pressing against the younger man's back.  
  
The guard suddenly realized why these guys were hitting a nerve. The picture Lowell showed him. This was Charles Novacek, in his bank!  
  
He discreetly leaned towards the mouthpiece of his radio and pressed the button with his hand.  
  
"This is Brian McCrane, security guard at Global Bank on 178th street requesting immediate police assistance. Charles Novacek is here. I repeat, Charles Novacek is here with John Carter."  
  
Brian's joy at being instrumental in catching Novacek was short lived as the response from dispatch came in way too loud. He had forgotten to turn down the volume on the radio.  
  
"Copy that Global Bank. Police are on the way."  
  
Novacek's head jerked up, and the guard's eyes met his for a split second. Brian saw rage flash through his eyes moments before he pulled the gun from his pocket and pulled the trigger.  
  
The last thing he heard was someone scream 'No!' seconds before the bullet slammed into his chest.  
  
XxXxXxXx  
  
Carter watched in horror as the bullet hit the guard in the chest, throwing him back into the wall. He slowly slid to the floor, leaving a trail of blood which stood out in stark contrast against the white wall.  
  
The people in the bank started screaming. Some people dropped to the floor, while others took refuge behind the counter or ran for the door. Charles fired the gun into the air.  
  
"Nobody move!" he yelled. "Anybody leaves, and the rest of you are dead!"  
  
"Please... don't hurt me," a woman whimpered from behind the counter.  
  
"Shut up! Do as I tell you and no one gets hurt. I want everyone over in that corner except you," Novacek shouted, pointing his gun at the woman who had spoken. She was obviously a teller at the bank. "You're going to get me what I want."  
  
The people huddled together in the corner of the room remained silent, eyes glued to Novacek, who still had Carter infront of him. When Charles had finished barking his order for money to the teller, the only noise was the harsh, laboured breathing of the guard.  
  
"Let me help him," Carter said to Charles.  
  
Before Charles could reply, approaching sirens could be heard, followed by the screeching of tires, doors slamming, and yelling.  
  
"I can help him. If he dies, it will..." Carter was cut off when Charles brought the gun down on the side of his head, bringing him to his knees.  
  
"Shut up! Don't you get it? I don't care if he dies. I'm getting out of here even if I have to kill all of you!" 


	11. Chapter 11

Benton got into his car and raced to the bank. How could this happen? Three weeks ago everything had been fine. Now, one thing after another threatened to destroy Carter's career, and his life.  
  
He heard a multitude of sirens as he approached the bank. Police cars were parked haphazardly around the street, and an ambulance was just arriving. The cops were just starting to put up the yellow tape to keep the gathering crowd out of the way. Peter spotted Andersen and Lowell, and started walking towards them.  
  
A sudden obstacle in his path brought him to an abrupt halt.  
  
"Sorry, sir," an obviously rookie cop said to him. "You can't go any further."  
  
"Like hell I can't," Peter growled, and started to move around the officer.  
  
Again, the cop stepped into his path, and put a hand on his chest.  
  
"Sir," he stated, resting his hand on his holster so Peter would get the drift.  
  
"Hey Andersen!" Peter yelled.  
  
Craig gave a casual glance in his direction, then looked away pretending not to know him.  
  
"Why that son of a bitch," Peter growled. "I have to speak to Detective Andersen. A friend of mine is in that bank."  
  
"We're doing everything we can sir, now please stay back."  
  
"Andersen! Pretending you don't know me now? Huh? Was this part of your big plan? How many more people have to die because of your power trip?"  
  
"What's going on here?" asked the Sergeant after hearing the commotion. "Who are you?"  
  
"Listen, my name is Peter Benton, I'm a doctor at County with John Carter, the man in that bank. You need to arrest Craig Andersen right away. He orchestrated this whole thing!"  
  
"What?!" the Sergeant exclaimed, obviously shocked. "Andersen! Get over here!"  
  
Unable to ignore the Sergeant, Andersen made his way over with Lowell following behind. Peter could see the fury in his eyes, and his body tense with barely contained rage. Lowell on the other hand looked like a dog following it's owner. It was obvious Andersen held all the cards.  
  
"Andersen, do you know this man?" asked the Sergeant.  
  
"No sir, never seen him before," Craig smoothly answered, never removing his hateful eyes from Peter's.  
  
"You son of a ..." Peter lunged at Andersen, but the rookie held him back. "Tell them you coward! Tell them how you arranged the kidnapping of John Carter from the safe house which lead to the shooting of a fellow cop! Tell them how you manipulated other cops into doing your bidding!"  
  
"I've never seen him before, Sergeant," Andersen stated again.  
  
"Sir, you're gonna have to calm down. Officer Jonas here will drive you to the station and you can..." the Sergeant started, obviously about to brush Peter off with the more important situation still at hand.  
  
"It's true," a quiet voice piped up.  
  
All eyes turned to Greg Lowell.  
  
"Andersen let slip the safe house information in front of some guys on the street that we suspected worked for Novacek. He ordered me, Rudy, and a few other cops to keep quiet about it. Told us it was some undercover operation that only he was supposed to know about. It all..."  
  
"You little snitch!" Andersen shouted. "We had a deal!"  
  
"I've spent the past two years listening to your whining and complaining about how you're too good for this job. That you belong in homicide. Well I'm sick of it! All you think of is yourself and how you can use me to come out looking like the hero! One my friends was shot because of you!"  
  
The Sergeant stood there, his mouth opening and closing, but no noise coming out. This sudden revelation was shocking, to say the least. He regained control over his voice.  
  
"Detective Andersen, in lieu of Lowell's and Dr. Benton's claims, I'm going to have to place you under arrest. Officer Jonas, cuff him and take him back to the station."  
  
"Yes sir."  
  
XxXxXxXx  
  
The tension in the bank was stifling. Despite the sirens and shouting outside, all Carter could hear was the ragged breathing of the security guard. A few people were huddled on the floor looking terrified, and the teller who had spoken earlier was busily gathering money for Novacek.  
  
"Please, I can help him," Carter begged Novacek, not wanting to live with the death of another person of him.  
  
He was completely unprepared for the blow to his temple that brought him to the ground, or the kick to the stomach. The pain exploded in his gut, causing him to curl into a ball to protect himself from any further blows.  
  
"Shut up! Just shut the hell up! I've had enough..." Novacek was cut off by the ringing of the phone. He pointed the gun at Carter, and slowly moved towards the phone. "Don't move."  
  
Carter saw the gun pointed at his head and watched as Novacek answered the phone. He turned his head and saw the guard lying in a pool of his own blood. Each breath becoming more and more laboured. The guard's head rolled to the side, and he made eye contact with Carter. Carter saw the desperation, fear and pain in the guard's eyes. He was begging for someone to help him.  
  
Carter looked back at Novacek and saw his hold on the gun slacken a little. He was obviously distracted with whoever he was on the phone with.  
  
He made up his mind, and started to crawl towards the guard.  
  
Novacek saw the movement out of the corner of his eye. He dropped the phone as anger surged through him. He raised his gun and tightened his finger on the trigger.  
  
A gunshot rang out. 


	12. Chapter 12

The sniper looked through the cross-hairs of his rifle into the bank. From his vantage point on a neighbouring roof he could see the phone in the bank, but no people.  
  
His radio crackled to life and a tinny voice announced, "You are cleared to take the shot once Novacek is in view. Over."  
  
"10-4," he replied.  
  
A flash of movement. He turned, steadying his finger on the trigger, preparing himself mentally and physically to shoot. Someone moved into view and answered the phone, but his face was obscured. Was it Novacek, or a hostage?  
  
A few seconds passed. Suddenly the man turned and raised his gun, pointing it at someone out of his view. Novacek had made a deadly mistake.  
  
The sniper took his shot.  
  
XxXxXxXx  
  
Peter froze. For some reason he thought he heard two gunshots. He kept his eyes on the bank door, praying that Carter would come walking out. Instead a SWAT team moved in, weapons raised to secure the building.  
  
"Building secure. Novacek is dead," Peter heard the crackly announcement a few moments later from an officer's radio. "We need EMS. A hostage has been shot. I repeat, a hostage is down."  
  
Peter's heart leapt into this throat.  
  
"Sergeant!" he bellowed. "I'm a doctor! Let me go in with them!"  
  
The Sergeant thought about it for a second before nodding his head in Peter's direction. Peter ducked under the yellow tape and jogged to the paramedics. He helped carry the gear and entered the building, fearing the worst.  
  
XxXxXxXx  
  
The fear was tangible. The heat and the smell of sweat and blood hung in the air, as there were no windows open to allow ventilation. People were huddled on the floor; some staring into space, others being helped out by the SWAT team. Peter's eyes frantically searched the bank looking for Carter.  
  
His heart stopped and he froze.  
  
Over near the far wall the paramedics were working on someone who had obviously been shot, and a civilian whose face he could not see was performing CPR. A gory smear of blood marred the wall adding to the horror of the scene in front of him.  
  
When he found his legs he ran over and felt relief rush through him when he realized the injured man was a security guard. The relief was short lived when he saw the shape Carter was in.  
  
Blood stood out in stark contrast against his pale arms and shirt, bruises covered his face, and there were tears running down his cheeks.  
  
"He's in v-fib," one of the medics announced.  
  
Jumping into action, Peter grabbed the bag containing the defibrillator, knelt down beside the injured man, and charged the paddles.  
  
"250. Clear!" he applied the paddles to the guards body and watched it convulse with the current.  
  
"No change. 300. Clear!" Again no change.  
  
"He's in asystole!"  
  
Carter immediately started chest compressions. After numerous attempts to revive the guard, it was obvious his body had given up the fight. Carter desperately continued the compressions.  
  
"Come on!" Carter yelled. "Don't you die because of me too!"  
  
"Carter," Peter said gently, wondering about what Carter had just said. "Carter, he's gone."  
  
Peter reached out a hand and grabbed the younger mans wrist to stop the compressions. "Let's go get you checked out Carter."  
  
Carter slowly stood up and walked over the where Novacek's body lay, covered by a plastic body bag. A red stain evident beneath the body. His initial feelings, fear, helplessness, were being replaced by an anger that seemed to some from deep within him. How many lives had been needlessly destroyed by this man?  
  
He felt Peter's arm on his elbow, gently guiding him away from the gruesome scene and out into the bright street. A large curious crowd had gathered behind the yellow crime scene tape, hovering like vultures waiting for an animal to die. Cop cars and other emergency vehicles were scattered everywhere, and emergency personnel scurried about performing their assigned tasks.  
  
Peter, who had decided the only blood on Carter had come from the guard, led Carter to his car. He'd drive him to the hospital as opposed to putting him in an ambulance.  
  
XxXxXxXx  
  
The silence was deafening. Carter stared out the window watching the city go by, while Peter concentrated on getting through the traffic. An unmarked police car carrying two detectives picked by the Sergeant followed them to the hospital to secure a statement, among other things from Carter. It was going to be a very long day.  
  
"How many?" Carter suddenly asked.  
  
"What?" Peter had no idea what Carter was referring to.  
  
"How many people died because of me?" Carter clarified.  
  
Peter was glad Carter asked a question where good news was the answer. "No one died because of you, Carter."  
  
"Yes they did. Michael, the two officers guarding me, the security guard and Novacek."  
  
"Carter, you did not kill Michael. Novacek did. And you are definitely not responsible for Novacek. No one was but himself."  
  
"The two officers," Carter interrupted him. "They died guarding me. Novacek said..."  
  
"He was lying, Carter," Peter said cutting him off. "They're alright."  
  
"No they're not!" Carter responded vehemently. "I saw them lying the street! Officer Rudy..."  
  
"Is in the hospital recovering from a GSW to the abdomen. The other officer was just knocked unconscious. Don't believe anything Novacek told you. He knew exactly what buttons to push to upset you."  
  
Carter leaned back against the seat and closed his eyes, giving in to the call of exhaustion. His mind was spinning, replaying bits and pieces of the events over the past couple days. All the terrible feelings he'd been having threatened to overwhelm him. He was still reeling with shock over the fact that Craig Anderson, the man who was supposed to be helping him, had a hand in this. What was his motivation? The pain in his head from being hit came back slowly as the adrenaline started to wear off. Carter couldn't stop the moan that escaped his lips.  
  
Peter glanced over, worried when he heard Carter moan. He was glad Carter hadn't tried to hedge out of being examined. His face looked terrible.  
  
They arrived at the hospital shortly, and as soon as they entered the hospital they were met by a crowd of worried coworkers. Mark, quick to see the shape Carter was in shooed people away, and led Carter, Peter and the two detectives to an empty exam room. He gave them some privacy, and decided Anspaugh and Weaver needed to be notified.  
  
Once Carter was seated on the bed the two detectives introduced themselves and immediately got his side of what happened while Peter examined him. Carter started from the beginning with Michael Benton being injected with the potassium while Peter listened to his breathing and checked his pulse. By the time Peter flashed his penlight into Carter's eyes, Carter was close to finishing his statement.  
  
"Thank you for your time Dr. Carter. And please remember this is not your fault. Most victims either think they're to blame, or they identify with their attackers. I can recommend some good victims groups if you're interested."  
  
"That won't be necessary," Carter interjected too quickly. Peter quirked an eyebrow at him. "I'm fine." His false smile didn't reach his eyes.  
  
The detectives left and Peter turned to Carter. "Alright Carter. Off with the shirt."  
  
"I'm fine Dr. Benton. There's no need ..."  
  
Peter gave Carter his 'do as you're told glare' and Carter silently complied. Peter inwardly winced when he saw the bruises on Carters chest and back, but they were starting to fade and there was no new bruising.  
  
"I'm going to send you for a CT. It looks like you've taken a few blows to the head. Aside from a few bruises and mild dehydration you're fine."  
  
"I wanted to thank you for doing all this. You've stuck with me through this entire thing," Carter admitted while buttoning up his shirt.  
  
Peter hid his embarrassed smile by looking at the floor. He wasn't good at talking about anything personal or emotional with people. Especially with Carter which was unusual because he cared about Carter more than he was willing to admit.  
  
"You're welcome." 


	13. Conclusion

Here's the last chapter, thanks for all the reviews guys! Keep in mind when I wrote this part it was two years after I started the story, so I apologize if the characters seem different. If there are holes in the plot, let me know and I'll revise it. Thanks! Megan  
  
XxXxXxXx  
  
"And now, more news on the bank robbery today at Global Bank. Charles Novacek, a big time drug dealer, is now in police custody after five years of trying to build a case against him. During the robbery attempt, security guard Brian McCrane was killed. Novacek faces multiple counts of murder, including Michael Benton, an accomplice who he killed. There will be more on this story at 11," the reporter finished.  
  
Sighing, Carter propelled himself off his couch and headed into the kitchen for a drink. He'd been home from the hospital for two hours, and was still feeling twitchy. Obviously, his adrenaline high had yet to wear off. He'd managed to clean up the mess the police had made of his apartment while it had been a crime scene, and even installed an extra lock on his door. Never again would he make the mistake of leaving it unlocked.  
  
A sudden knocking at the door caused him to jump, almost spilling his water down the front of his shirt. 'Calm down,' he told himself. 'A robber wouldn't knock first.'  
  
"Carter? It's Peter," a voice called.  
  
Laughing at himself for being so paranoid, Carter stiffly made his way to the door, and was surprised to see Peter standing there with a box of pizza and two bottles of tomato juice.  
  
"I, uh, was in the neighbourhood and thought you might be hungry," Peter shrugged, looking decidedly uncomfortable.  
  
Carter couldn't help but smile. "Come on in. I'd offer you a drink, but I see you've taken care of that already. V8?"  
  
"It's good for you, Carter."  
  
"I know, I know, You can set that on the table, I'll get us some plates." As Carter reached for the plates, he groaned involuntarily as he pulled on his stiff muscles.  
  
It didn't get past Peter. "Did you take your muscle relaxant, Carter?"  
  
"Yep."  
  
"What about the pain killer?"  
  
"It's really not that bad. I'll take it when I need it."  
  
"Carter," Benton warned.  
  
"I'll take it before bed. It will help me sleep."  
  
Satisfied, Peter opened the box of pizza and helped himself. Half the pizza was vegetarian with no cheese, and the other half was meat lovers. Carter chuckled.  
  
"I should have known."  
  
They ate in companionable silence. Peter not feeling comfortable enough to talk with Carter about his feelings, and Carter still lost in his thoughts.  
  
"So, when will I see you at work?"  
  
"Weaver gave me one week off. I told her I didn't need it, but, you know her."  
  
"You shouldn't push things, Carter. You've been through a lot. Are you going to call one of the victims groups the detective mentioned?"  
  
"I don't need counseling. Just a good nights sleep." Carter was starting to become slightly defensive. Peter could see the walls coming up.  
  
"It couldn't hurt. Just remember what Mark went through after his attack."  
  
Silence again, as both men started to feel slightly uncomfortable. Peter vowed to himself he'd help Carter through this. He didn't appear too bad right now, but he still hadn't registered what had fully happened. Once the adrenaline wore off, it would hit him like a brick, and he would be there to help him. There would be no repeats of Gant, or Mark Greene.  
  
"So, how is Officer Rudy doing?"  
  
"He'll make a complete recovery. Unfortunately, because of his role with the safe house, Internal Affairs will be investigating him. He might lose his job. Same with his partner." At least he could give Carter good news.  
  
Both men once again fell silent. The muted tones of the TV could just be made out.  
  
"We have breaking news relating to the capture of Charles Novacek today. Apparently, Detective Craig Andersen, assigned to investigate an assault on a doctor at Cook County, has been arrested. Because of Detective Andersen, the safe house housing the doctor was attacked by Novacek, who shot one of the officers, knocked the other one unconscious, and proceeded to kidnap the doctor. Later, Novacek robbed Global Bank, killing the security guard. Among many other charges, he will face a manslaughter charge in the death of the guard as his actions lead to his being killed. We go now to his precinct where correspondent Tyler Minard is with Detective Greg Lowell, Andersen's partner.  
  
"Officer, did you have any reason to suspect your partner was behind this?"  
  
"No, none at all. He was very driven to succeed at everything, so I assumed when he had information with no apparent source, he'd just worked extra hard to find it."  
  
"Can you tell us what his motivation might have been?"  
  
"Damn right I can. All I ever heard from him is that he wanted to be a homicide detective. He always said he should have been made a Sergeant. He thought by playing the hero that he'd finally get the promotion."  
  
"And one last question. How will all of this affect you ?"  
  
"Well, Internal Affairs will be questioning me, but I've been assured that because I had no knowledge of what was happening I'll be fine. When I'm cleared, I'm being transferred to homicide." Greg's grin was bright enough the cameraman could have turned his off, and his face still would have been lit.  
  
"Thank you for your time, Detective Lowell. Back to you, Sandy." 


End file.
